


romance of the unusual

by everythingislove (straykid)



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: 1st Year Isak, 3rd Year Even, Boy Squad, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Foster Kid Isak, Foster Parent Eskild, Found Family, The Balloon Squad (SKAM)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-16 09:23:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14161722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straykid/pseuds/everythingislove
Summary: Isak has been a ward of the Norwegian Child Welfare Services for ten years, but he’s never been put into a placement like this.Or: the one where Isak is a foster kid counting down the days until his 18th birthday. When he gets relocated to a placement in his home city of Oslo, he knows he’ll have to face the demons of his past; he just doesn’t expect to have people by his side while he does.Cue Eskild, his unorthodox foster father, Jonas, his childhood best friend, and Even—the boy who makes him want everything he knows he can’t have.





	romance of the unusual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! i'd quickly like to say that everything i know about the norwegian foster care system is information from google. i've tried to keep this as true to life as possible, but i apologize for any potential inaccuracies. also, shoutout to josie who is probably more excited about this fic than i am lolol.
> 
> i hope you all enjoy!!

He dreams in shades of red and orange; of the world ablaze, melting from the inside and charred around the edges. The echo of phantom screams. A blistered hand plunging through the flames, grasping for something,  _ someone _ , just barely out of reach—

Isak’s eyes fly open, and he breathes in a sharp gasp. He can feel the heavy pounding of his heart as he blinks up at the ceiling, too stunned to move. There’s a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead that has his hair clinging to his skin, and he has to clench his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. The fear thrumming through his veins is familiar; the aftershocks of a nightmare that’s haunted him for years.

Light streams in from a gap between the curtains, illuminating his bedroom with the early morning sunshine. He can hear faint clamoring from the kitchen, no doubt his new foster father making them breakfast as he has every morning since Isak arrived. 

He’s been living with Eskild for nearly a week now, and he still can’t quite figure the man out. Isak has been a ward of the Norwegian Child Welfare Services for ten years, but he’s never been put into a placement like this. Eskild is young—pushing thirty, if he’s not even younger than that—and single. All of his other foster parents had been couples with graying hair and weddings bands. Eskild’s eccentric and flamboyant, out in all of the ways that Isak’s sure he’ll never be; and he looks at Isak like he  _ knows.  _ It’s unsettling.

When his pulse finally seems to even out, Isak forces himself to sit upright. He runs a hand back through his messy bed hair, and forces all of those thoughts away. There’s no use dwelling on any of that right now.

Slowly, he gets up out of bed, and quietly makes his way across the hall to the bathroom. He turns the faucet on to the coldest setting and splashes the freezing water onto his face, exhaling a shaky breath. He towels the excess water off his face, blinking at his reflection.

It’s oddly peaceful in the silent solitude of the bathroom, and Isak yearns to stay there and absorb himself in it. Nevertheless, he knows that Eskild will come looking for him once the food is done, and that’s the last thing he wants.

So he squares his shoulders, and narrows his eyes at his reflection like a challenge. “I’m okay,” he whispers, voice still raspy with sleep. It’s a reminder as much as it is a promise.

He takes one more deep breath, and forces himself to release the white knuckle grip on the vanity. After a long moment, his feet move in the direction of the door, and he’s starting down the hallway toward the stairs before he can think twice about it.

The smell of eggs get stronger as he approaches the doorway of the kitchen, making his stomach churn unpleasantly. He’s not hungry, especially not after having  _ the dream,  _ but there’s no chance he’ll willingly turn down a meal.

Isak knows what it means to go hungry, and it’s something he never wants to feel again.

“Good morning,” Eskild says brightly, snapping him from that train of thought. He’s standing with his back turned to the stove and a spatula in hand, wearing an apron that reads  _ Kiss the Cook.  _ “I hope you like eggs.”

Isak tugs his shoulders up into a halfhearted shrug. He prefers toast with jam or a classic bowl of cereal, but he knows better than to complain about something as simple as what they’re having for breakfast. “Eggs are fine.”

Eskild makes an appeased noise, and then points his spatula in the direction of the table. “Go take a seat. I’ll bring your plate over once it’s finished.”

“Thanks,” Isak mumbles. He makes his way over to the table, slowly sitting down on one of the chairs. He shuts his eyes when Eskild turns back toward the stove, but his new legal guardian is apparently allergic to silence.

“Did you sleep well?” Eskild asks. “I hope the new curtains are doing a better job of keeping the light out in the mornings. I’m still hoping to find a different color, though. That yellow is hideous.”

“I slept fine, and I don’t mind the color,” Isak says. He wishes he could tell him that having yellow curtains in his bedroom is the least of his worries. He once spent three months sleeping on a bare mattress on the floor of a group home; anything more than that is a luxury.

Eskild portions out the eggs onto two plates, and then carries them over to the table. There’s already two glasses of orange juice set on the placemats.

“Thanks,” Isak says once again, picking up his fork. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” Eskild says, sitting down across from him. He reaches for his glass and takes a small sip of orange juice, clearing his throat. “I do want to talk to you about something, though.”

“Okay,” Isak shifts uneasily. Conversations that start like that typically never end well. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, no. It’s nothing like that,” Eskild assures, offering him a soothing smile. “Your school called earlier. It was a reminder that you’re set to start at Hartvig Nissen next Monday.”

“Great,” Isak says dryly. He barely refrains from groaning.

“Don’t be like that,” Eskild says, giving him a meaningful look. “Maybe it will go wonderfully.”

“I’ve been the new kid before,” Isak says. “It’s never  _ wonderful. _ ”

“That’s fair,” Eskild nods, “but you have to remember that you’re going into your first year of high school. All of your classmates will be new too.” Isak stuffs a too-large bite of his eggs into his mouth out of spite. It tastes like cardboard on his tongue.

Eskild watches him closely from across the table, and slowly his features begin to soften. “I’m not going to tell you that it won’t be hard, but I’m sure you’ll meet someone who you get along with. Didn’t your social worker say that you spent the first few years of school here in Oslo? You might even see some of you old classmates.”

“I don’t even know what my old classmates would look like,” Isak lies. He’s done his fair share of Instagram stalking since he was told he was getting moved to a placement in Oslo, but Eskild doesn’t need to know that.

“They might recognize you,” Eskild says optimistically. “Or you could make some new friends.”

Isak sighs, setting his fork down onto his plate. His eggs are still mostly untouched, but the few bites he managed to swallow down sit in his stomach like a rock. 

“Look,” Isak says slowly. “I’m going to be honest with you from the start and say that this is going to be a disaster.”

“Well, with that attitude—”

“No,” Isak’s voice raises slightly, and his own heart skips a beat.  _ Shit.  _ It’s too early to be testing the boundaries here and he knows it. He falters, making sure to lower his volume when he continues. “I’m not smart, okay? It’s a miracle I got into Nissen.”

“I don’t believe that,” Eskild says. 

“It’s the truth,” Isak stubbornly folds his arms across his chest. 

Eskild looks like he wants to say something more on the subject, but instead he simply shakes his head. It makes guilt stir up in the pit of Isak’s stomach, because he knows that there’s yet another person on the never-ending list of people he’s disappointed. 

They spend the next few minutes eating in silence, though he doesn’t miss the looks Eskild keeps sending him. 

It’s always odd, being in a placement where the people actually care about his well being. The novelty of wanting to save a child in need usually wears off after the first month, which is why he never allows himself to feel flattered by their concern. People are always looking for ways to convince themselves they’re good people; and nothing says  _ I’m a good person  _ quite like becoming the guardian of a minor no one else wants.

Eskild might be the strangest foster parent he’s had, but in the end, he’ll be no different than any of the others. In a few months maximum, he’ll be packing up his bags and heading somewhere new.

At last, Eskild breaks the tense silence that had settled between them.“I want to this to be a chance for you,” he says softly. “I can tell that you’re a good kid, you just need someone on your side for once.”

Isak almost rolls his eyes. “This isn’t a motivational film. I’m not some damsel in distress waiting to be saved; least of all by another man.” He immediately wishes he could take the words back, but it’s too late.

Eskild’s expression shudders. Everyone has their limits, and apparently Isak has pushed him to his. A fleeting panic consumes him for a moment, but he forces himself to breathe through it. No matter what happens, he’s dealt with worse before. There’s nothing left for him to be afraid of.

“I’m not the enemy, Isak,” Eskild says. His eyes are harder now, and the corners of his lips dip down into a stern frown. “I understand that you’re going through a lot, and I can handle some lashing out, but I won’t tolerate comments like that.”

“Sorry,” Isak says quietly. He knows he went too far.

“Don’t sabotage this for yourself,” Eskild says, pushing his chair back. “I have to go to work now. I’ll leave some money on the counter so that you can go shopping for school supplies if you want.”

“Okay,” Isak watches him carry his plate to the sink, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Eskild sighs, hands gripping the edge of the countertop. “I know you are. You don’t have to keep apologizing; that’s not what I want.”

“What  _ do _ you want?” Isak asks uneasily. 

“I want you to learn and grow,” Eskild turns back around to face him, meeting his eyes, “I want you to be yourself instead of… whatever it is you’re trying to be.”

“You don’t know me,” Isak murmurs. He’s entirely uncomfortable with this course of conversation, but is still trying his best to act indifferent. “Maybe this really is who I am.”

“I might not know you yet, but I see you, Isak. And something tells me that’s a first for you,” Eskild shakes his head, grabbing his keys off the counter. “I really have to leave or I’m going to be late. I’ll be back from work around 15:00.”

Isak nods mutely, not wanting to risk digging himself an even deeper hole. Eskild studies him for a long moment.

“You can text or call me if you need me. If you decide to go out, please remember that cell phone I got you, okay?”

“Okay,” Isak agrees quietly. Eskild lingers in the doorway for just a bit longer, and then ultimately turns and walks down the hall. The tension doesn’t leave Isak’s shoulders until he hears the faint slam of the front door.

-

With Eskild gone, Isak decides to tidy up the kitchen. He figures that it’s the least he can do, especially since the older man has been lenient so far regarding chores. And with any luck, Eskild will accept his olive branch and realize that Isak is trying his best. He scrubs the dirty dishes, wipes down the countertops, and even takes extra time to sweep the floor. 

When that’s done, he settles down onto the couch in the living room. Eskild granted Isak full access to his Netflix account, and Isak’s already on the second season of Narcos. So he spends the better part of the morning curled up there, watching the drama unfold.

But there’s only so much binge watching that one person can do.

It only takes a few hours before he’s bored of watching television, and he can feel a restless itch under his skin. He’s not used to lazing about like this; at his other placements, he would spend his down time wandering. It’s a habit he picked up after too many unsuitable foster parents; the types of people who felt either indifferent toward him, or viewed him as some sort of personal slave.

He pockets his shiny new iPhone and the cash Eskild left for him, and heads outside.

There’s comfort in walking the streets with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. It’s a certain anonymity, where he’s not a foster kid: he’s a person. Just a person.

As Isak starts to wander through Oslo, he’s hit with a foreign sense of longing and sentimentality. He hasn’t been back to the city in years, but it feels more like home than any of the placements he’s been in since. 

The city has changed, obviously—there’s an upscale looking restaurant where a pharmacy used to be, and the old video store has been replaced by a quaint looking coffee shop—but it’s still  _ familiar. _ He recognizes the sounds, and the smells, and if he shuts his eyes he might just believe that he’s five-years-old again and his world hasn’t gone to shit.

By the time he reaches the stop for the tram, he’s smiling despite himself. 

The tram pulls up only a few minutes later, and it’s fairly empty for once, which feels like a miracle. He’s not typically claustrophobic, but it’s always nice to be able to go somewhere without having your face shoved into a stranger’s armpit the entire time.

He steps on without paying too much attention to his surroundings, focused on the phone in his hand. Isak’s not a technology incompetent person, but the iPhone 6 is entirely different from the cracked iPhone 4 he’s been using for years, and he’s struggling to adjust.

Fucking Apple.

He’s trying to figure out how to set a password on the damn thing when a voice interrupts him.

“Isak?”

Isak tenses. He slowly raises his gaze, and finds a boy in a beanie standing in front of him. Wild curls peek out from underneath the knitted cap, and he has thick, dark brows to match. 

It only takes a moment for him to realize that he’s looking at  _ Jonas. _

Jonas Noah Vasquez. His first friend—the boy who was his best friend up until Isak had to move away. It brings a lump to his throat to remember those times, and to see him in the flesh again.

“Jonas?” Isak swallows thickly.

“Yeah,” Jonas beams, pulling him in for a hug. “What the fuck, man? It’s been forever!”

“I know,” Isak wets his lips. “I uh—moved away. Obviously.”

“But you’re back now?” Jonas asks. Isak almost thinks he looks excited, but he could just be imagining things.

“I’m back,” Isak agrees.  _ For now,  _ he thinks. 

“That’s awesome,” Jonas says earnestly. “I tried searching you up on Instagram afew weeks ago, actually. I found this old photo of us outside of school, and I was wondering what had happened to you.”

“Oh?” Isak clears his throat, a blush springing up on his cheek. He knows his  _ situation  _ used to be common knowledge, but he isn’t sure how much of it Jonas remembers. 

“It’s isakyaki,” he adds, probably too late. “My instagram isn’t under my real name. I wouldn’t want creepers from my primary school days stalking me.”

Jonas barks out a laugh, shaking his head. It’s so reminiscent of old times that Isak could almost believe nothing had changed at all. He has to get away from that train of thought fast.

“So what’s up with you these days?” Isak asks, trying to sound casual. 

“Nothing really, man. I’m just trying to enjoy the last little bit of summer before school starts back up again. I’ll be starting at Nissen,” Jonas says. “It’s chill though. I have a bunch of friends that are already third years there..”

“You’re going to Nissen too?” Isak asks, the words out before he can really think them through. Jonas is apparently someone cool enough to be friends with  _ third years  _ now; he can’t just expect him to be an ally because they knew one another when they were kids.

Jonas’ grin surprises him. “No fucking way,” he says. “Bro, this is going to be just like the old days! Only instead of hanging out with Julian the Booger Eater, you’ll get to meet the squad.”

“The squad,” Isak echoes, deadpan. 

“Yeah,” Jonas says eagerly. “There’s the third years that I mentioned—they transferred from Bakka at the end of last year—and Mags and Mahdi.”

“Cool,” Isak says. He’s not sure if he means it or not. 

“So where are you heading?” Jonas asks. 

“I was just exploring the city,” Isak lies, because telling the truth feels too lame. “I figured it would make things easier when I’m trying to get around.”

Jonas nods, before focusing his attention toward his phone. Isak feels like he can actually breathe again.

It’s only seconds later that his own phone buzzes with a notification. He’s confused at first, because the only number he has is Eskild’s and he never texts while he’s at work, but then he notices it’s from Instagram.

**jonas9000 requested to follow you**

Isak glances up toward Jonas, a reluctant smile on his face. Jonas grins back in return.

“My stop is coming up,” Jonas says, “but it’s been great catching up with you. We need to chill soon.” 

“We do,” Isak agrees. He’s not sure how Eskild will feel about him chilling with anyone once school starts, but he figures he’ll cross that bridge later. “I’ll message you later?”

“You’d better,” Jonas nods, offering his hand out. Isak takes it, and lets himself be pulled in for a brief hug. “I’ve missed you, man.”

This time, Isak doesn’t bother lying.

“I’ve missed you too,” he murmurs. To this day, he’s never had another friend quite like Jonas. 

As the tram pulls to a stop, Jonas steps back. He slings the bag down near his feet back up onto his shoulder, giving Isak one final nod.

“I’ll see you at school,” Jonas says, before making his way off the tram. 

It feels like a promise. 

Isak looks down at his phone screen, toward the notification still displayed. He opens up the app, his thumb hovering over the accept button. He thinks of the time that Jonas laughed so hard at something Isak said that chocolate milk came out of his nose. 

He presses accept, follows him back, and slips his phone back into his pocket.

-

It’s 22:00. Isak can’t sleep.

His mind is preoccupied with too many thoughts all at once. There’s his earlier conversation with Eskild; the discount school supplies sitting in his old, tattered backpack; the money inside the front pocket that he’d lied to Eskild about having left over; and Jonas.

From the outside, he’s in the ideal situation. He has a decent foster parent, and a way out of going into his first year of high school friendless. Maybe he should relax a little bit. For the first time in his life, he wonders if things might actually–

_ No.  _ He won’t let himself be hopeful. In the end, hope only leads to disappointment, and he’s had enough of that to last a lifetime.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated :)


End file.
